


The Business

by Basingstoke



Category: The Authority
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-10-28
Updated: 2001-10-28
Packaged: 2017-10-02 15:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basingstoke/pseuds/Basingstoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Many thanks to Jacquez for the beta.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Business

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Jacquez for the beta.

Three hundred and seventy-two scenarios involving the mop led to Becky's death. Forty-eight of them were purely accidental. Midnighter ran rescue scenarios in his head as he read his book and found that only three would still be fatal if he intervened. He flipped the mental switch that set his reflexes to intervene if necessary.

He _liked_ her. She gave him free refills against cafe policy.

Midnighter sipped his coffee and turned the page, waiting for Apollo. It was nearly closing time; he should arrive any minute.

Becky was dancing as she mopped behind the counter, humming along to a CD. Something about fallen angels... "There is no faith in which to hide, even truth is filled with lies; doubting angels fall to walk among the living."

"Is the music too loud?" she asked.

Midnighter looked up. "No."

"Cool." She upended chairs onto empty tables and ran the mop underneath. Midnighter was the only person left in the cafe, which was normal. He did this once or twice a week.

The bell on the door jingled as Apollo came in. He grinned. "Hi, Becky."

She beamed. "Hi, Jonathan! You _have_ to try the blueberry cheesecake. It's fabulous, and we have one piece left!"

"Ooh, great." Apollo was haloed tonight, Midnighter noticed. He didn't know how Apollo managed to pass for normal. Somehow he managed to pass better than Midnighter did.

They'd tried to be normal for the past six months. Retirement, courtesy of the new Stormwatch, which claimed to be quite different than the Stormwatch that had created them. Least they could do.

They had normal names: David Smith and Jonathan Jones. They had normal clothes and a normal apartment and normal transit passes and the normal problems of normal gay men in a large city, except that Midnighter could decapitate a mugger in three seconds flat and Apollo could and had set the placards of anti-gay activists on fire with a dirty look.

They wouldn't ever be normal.

Still, it was worth a try.

Apollo sat down with a thin slice of cheesecake marbled in lurid purple. "Evening."

"Didn't you used to have a uniform that shade of purple?" Midnighter rested his chin on his fist.

"Probably. Hasn't everyone?" Apollo smiled and ate a bite.

"No. They always dressed me in black." Black fatigues, black spandex, black leather. He was dressed in a black suit, coat and fedora in his new normal disguise. He liked black.

"Of course." Apollo speared a piece and held it across the little table. "Have some. It's good."

Midnighter shook his head. He didn't need to eat. Neither of them needed to eat. Apollo fed off sunshine, and Midnighter--he didn't know. All he really felt the need for was water and air. Perhaps he fed off Apollo.

Coffee was an indulgence. Cake was an indulgence. They were getting soft already, and they'd only been retired six months.

Apollo slid the cake into his own mouth. "Mmmm. Mmmmmmmmmm!" Midnighter just looked back down at his book. Sherlock Holmes. Like them, only human.

Becky lifted a chair onto an empty table, and the chair had 84 basic tactical uses. Apollo's hand darted in to swipe Midnighter's coffee cup, and Midnighter's computer-brain supplied him with a thousand counter-moves, 186 of them fatal, all of them deleted by his tactical filter before his conscious brain could fully process them. He could never, ever hurt Apollo.

"I don't want to go back into the business," Midnighter said.

Apollo leaned in closer. "You miss it. You dream about it at night. You fell out of bed last night, you were dreaming so hard."

"Dreaming about it doesn't mean I miss it." Last night his dreams had been dark and bloody, enemy after enemy popping up in a maze with Apollo trapped in the center. He'd killed and killed and killed, trying to reach his lover, until he woke up with the rug in his fists and Apollo's worried voice in his ears.

"We needed a rest. We're rested now," Apollo said. "We wouldn't be fighting on the streets. We'd have support, a base, everything. You can't tell me you're not interested. What are we going to do next, if not this?"

Midnighter looked down and turned a page without reading it. "I was thinking of learning to knit."

"You said you wanted a finer world," Apollo murmured. "I remember."

Midnighter glared at Apollo. He was right. Bastard. "We've already made one. Look what we did to the neighborhood."

They lived on a street with several dozen run-down old houses, converted into apartments and populated by gays and lesbians and artsy people and a few puzzled, elderly holdouts. There was a laundromat at one end and a bookstore, several restaurants, and a late-night cafe at the other. After the Midnighter cracked the skulls of half the local thieves and thugs, they stayed off his block; once it was safe to go outside at night, people _did_.

Small. Perfect. A pleasant retirement home for two old warriors and a safe place for the rest of the inhabitants.

Apollo leaned back and took another bite of cake, washing it down with the coffee. The subtle light of his halo glittered off the mug.

"I've been dead for too long," Midnighter said. "I'm curious to know what it's like to be alive."

"_God_, you're stubborn." Apollo reached over again and took Midnighter's hat off, brushing his fingers through the stubble of Midnighter's hair. He finally cupped his hands around the back of Midnighter's neck and brought their heads together until their brows were touching.

"I love you," Apollo murmured. "You're...um...whatever the opposite of sunshine is that's still good."

"Rain, maybe?" Midnighter touched his naked fingertips to Apollo's smooth cheeks. "I love you as well. Even when you can't construct a decent metaphor."

They sat for a few minutes before Becky coughed. "Um. Guys? I'm sorry, but I have to close."

Apollo let Midnighter go and turned to the girl with a smile. "No problem. Would you like us to walk you to the bank again?"

"That would be _great_." She beamed, sounding relieved.

"You superhero," Midnighter murmured. Apollo just looked self-satisfied and held up the last garish bite of cake.

Midnighter opened his mouth and let Apollo feed him, and it was actually as good as Becky said.

They stood. Apollo put Midnighter's hat back on his head. Midnighter slipped his book into his coat pocket and upturned the two chairs onto the small table as Apollo took the dishes to the counter. Becky rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher to be cleaned overnight, then she took out the cash box and emptied the register. "I'm ready to go," she said.

"We're always ready," Apollo said, taking Midnighter's hand. "For anything." Midnighter just shook his head and pulled him out the door.

They usually walked Becky to the bank when she closed alone. Her manager frowned on leaving the money in the store overnight, even in the safe. It wasn't likely that anyone would try to mug her in a neighborhood protected by Apollo and the Midnighter, but she didn't know about that protection, and she was a sensible girl.

An average of 2,349 discrete possibilities of danger lurked behind every tree, bush and building, with a .03 probability of Becky being attacked if she were alone.

The bank was two blocks down, next to the laundromat. The street was cool and damp from the earlier rain. There wasn't much traffic, since it was a weeknight.

Overgrown hedges and shrubby trees made the sidewalk an obstacle course, so they walked in the street. Everyone did, in their neighborhood. Midnighter looked up and counted the satellites--which were "theirs" and which were "ours" these days? It had been so simple. The US versus the rest of the world, when he was part of the Army. The rest of the world versus Apollo and the Midnighter, when they were running. Now they were completely alone--now even Stormwatch was gone, half killed and half unemployed by an alien attack, the space station Skywatch destroyed. It was strange not to see Skywatch's ominous twinkle among the rest of the space trash.

Nobody watching him. Nobody left. Strange feeling.

When they walked past their apartment, Midnighter noticed that Apollo had left the attic window open. He must have been flying again.

"You guys looked like you were in a pretty heavy conversation," Becky said, dodging an early pothole.

Apollo squeezed Midnighter's hand. "We've had an offer to go back into the business."

"The business?" She frowned. "You said you were ex-military. Aren't you kind of, you know, old to re-up?"

"It's complicated," Apollo said.

"It's classified," Midnighter growled. He narrowed his eyes at Apollo.

"Also classified," Apollo conceded. "And we're not _that_ old."

"Too old." Apollo was thirty-six, never mind that he told the club kiddies he was twenty-nine. Midnighter had seen his files. Midnighter himself was forty-three. He'd enlisted at eighteen and been absorbed into black ops at twenty-one.

He'd had snatches and glimpses of a regular life--a month here, a fortnight there, one glorious nine-month stretch where he'd actually managed to meet a guy, live with him and break up without his job getting in the way even once.

Fuck that. Fuck the good fight. He was going to grow old with Apollo.

He squeezed Apollo's hand and Apollo squeezed back. "I think it's a good opportunity regardless," Apollo said. Midnighter just grunted.

Becky looked at Midnighter, curiosity written all over her face. "So...you're not really military--"

"Don't ask any more," Midnighter interrupted. "It won't take you anyplace you want to go."

"Oh." Becky closed her mouth, flushing. "Um. So. Where are you guys from?"

Apollo grinned. "I was born in Alexandria, Virginia. Since then I've moved around a lot."

"And the moving around is classified, right?"

"Now you're getting it." Apollo pressed closer to the Midnighter. "Where were you born, _David?_"

His mother always told the story this way: "You were born on an airplane halfway between New York and Berlin, and the first thing you did, even before you cried, was piddle in the stewardess's eye. That's how we knew you were going to be a handful." And then she'd kiss his bruised cheek or skinned knee and send him into the backyard to play with his sisters.

He had six sisters. He was an army brat. His father died of a heart attack when he was eighteen, and he'd enlisted two months later. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. He was named after his father--he still remembered his original name, even if he couldn't use it.

Midnighter tipped his head down, letting his hat block his line of sight. "My background is classified." It made him identifiable. It gave the enemy an in. Even if Becky wasn't the enemy, the principle was the same.

Apollo frowned but squeezed the Midnighter's hand anyway.

"That totally sucks. I can't imagine not being able to talk about my whole life." Becky wrinkled her nose. "I guess that's the thing about having a totally boring life. I'm from Indianapolis. I moved out here after, you know, it got blown up? By those metal guys? They crashed a fighter jet right into my apartment block."

Apollo shot a look sideways at Midnighter. "I read about that," Apollo said. They'd been in Los Angeles at the time. Apollo had wept in his arms when he found out the androids' weak spot--they were bulletproof but not heat-proof. Apollo could have taken them out in one sweep.

"I figured since even crappy cities like Indianapolis could get wasted these days, I might as well live in a place with good sushi." She shrugged and smiled, resettling the cash box under her arm.

"I know. Things are going to hell these days," Apollo said, shooting another look at Midnighter. Midnighter shot a look back.

"Where are all the superheroes? That's my question," Apollo continued. "Stormwatch is out of commission but that just means people are out of work. Seems like we ought to have one in every police station."

Midnighter was very, very glad that Becky was walking ahead and couldn't see his face. "Bitch," he muttered. Apollo pecked him on the cheek.

"I thought there was a law against superhumans in government jobs? Which is dumb, because I'd totally like to see a cop with X-Ray vision in some of these alleys, or one that's bulletproof." She shrugged; she looked back and smiled. "At least I've got you guys."

Apollo smiled back. "Not for much longer."

"Just forever," Midnighter said.

They reached the ATM, lit by the halogen and neon of midnight shopping, and Becky started feeding envelopes into the machine. It only allowed ten bills per envelope, so it took a while.

Apollo pinned Midnighter to the wall. "You know you want to do it," he breathed, and kissed Midnighter with plenty of tongue.

Midnighter slipped his hands into Apollo's back pockets. "I want to go home and iron my shirts."

"Liar. You hate sitting around the house all day." Apollo nuzzled Midnighter's neck as Midnighter kept an eye and an ear on the street. Operating a cash machine at night brought Becky's risk of attack up to .075. Accompanied by him and Apollo, the risk dropped to .002, but that was far from zero.

"Do you both have to go back into the business?" Becky said as she punched buttons. "I mean? You're not handcuffed together or anything."

Midnighter stroked Apollo's back. "We're a team. We're inseparable."

"I'm the commander," Apollo muttered into Midnighter's neck. "I could order you to do it."

"Give it a rest if you don't want to sleep on the couch--" Midnighter broke off as he saw movement, movement that triggered all sorts of alarms in his head. "Becky. Lock the box and call 911."

Apollo quickly straightened up and moved in front of Becky, waiting to take his cues from Midnighter. Midnighter looked around, cataloguing the thousand tiny movements of shadow and shape that told him something big was about to happen.

There should have been a shout when they swarmed, but there was only the slap of a few dozen sneakers on the sidewalk. Kids. Teenagers. A horde.

Little rat bastards. Midnighter kicked one in the head while backhanding a second and swung his knee around to knock the wind out of a third. He could see Apollo throwing slow pile-driver punches and Becky huddled, scared but untouched, by the bank machine.

They were all on something--crystal meth? No--something different. Something strong. He didn't really care what; it didn't make them dangerous enough to even be interesting, except for the sheer number. He took a short kid by the jacket and swung him like a mace, knocking the feet out from under another boy who had almost gotten close to Becky.

"Does this seem strange to you?" Apollo said with two kids in a headlock.

"A little." They were silent, which was bizarre, and their tongues were all orange, which was new. "I can't recognize the drug these kids are on."

"Me neither." Apollo punched the last kid and tossed him on top of two others. Midnighter rubbed the back of his neck, replaying the horde's tactics. Silent. That was strange.

"What did they want?" Midnighter asked. "Money, do you think? Becky's cash box doesn't hold that much."

Apollo rolled his shoulders and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Was it preplanned?"

"Hm. They weren't following us. And if they were watching, they should have attacked as soon as Becky opened the box, and not waited for her to put money in the machine." Midnighter played scenarios through his mind, but none of them made sense. "Do you want to look into this?"

"Of course." Apollo grinned. "But you know, that's not very retired...and this would go a lot easier with more people..."

"Apollo!" He was right, damn him.

Apollo laughed. "Does this mean you changed your mind?"

"Fuck! No!" Son of a bitch. His blood was up, his heart was speeding with the hunt, and Midnighter didn't want to stop fighting. He wanted to find whoever had drugged those kids. He wanted to burn the factory down and scatter the dirty money to clean charities around the world. He wanted to find the bastards who were always thinking up the next thrill, the next high, the next temptation. He wanted to fix the things that were wrong that made kids take the fucking drugs to begin with. He wanted--

He wanted what he always wanted. He wanted to live in a better world.

Midnighter scowled. "I'm not risking my ass for anyone any more--" I'm not risking _yours_, he was about to say; your ass is _mine_ until we die of old age.

"Anyone? Not even Becky? Not your family? You don't believe that! You don't believe that in your heart!" Apollo squared off with Midnighter, staring him down face to face. He wasn't laughing any more.

"A finer world," Apollo said. "You told me 'it's a small thing to ask.' You told me that. Now they're asking _us_, and we can do it, I know we can."

The sound of sirens Dopplered down the street as they stared at each other.

Midnighter dropped his eyes.

Apollo grabbed him, hugging him, grinning wide enough to split his face. "I love you, God I love you!" Midnighter wrapped his arms around him, feeling the old worries come rushing back--but had they ever gone away?

Five years together. He wanted ten, twenty, a hundred...how long would their altered bodies last, anyway?

"Um." Becky stood by the cash machine, hugging the cash box to her chest. "Um?"

"We're going back in the business, honey," Apollo said. "Stormwatch is back in business."

"They're not still calling it that, are they? That's a damned silly name." Midnighter didn't let go.

"Beats me. Jenny didn't say." Apollo picked Midnighter up and swung him around happily as the cop cars arrived.

6,079 scenarios involving danger stemmed from the police. Three were fatal to Midnighter. One was fatal to Apollo. The chance was never zero, ever.

* * *

END.


End file.
